


The Phantom Of The Nursery

by maremote



Series: And Then There Were Eight [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Everyone Has Issues, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Ghosts, Klaus Hargreeves' book of household chores, Multi, Other, Plants, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, no beta we die like ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maremote/pseuds/maremote
Summary: Everything is soft and dark and welcoming.Vanya          f  l  o  a  t  s.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Klaus Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves, Stella & Five, Stella & Vanya
Series: And Then There Were Eight [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1332470
Comments: 115
Kudos: 285





	1. And There There Was One

**Author's Note:**

> guess whos back  
> back again  
> shadys back  
> tell a friend

Everything is soft and dark and welcoming. 

Vanya  _ f l o a t s.  _

Then a horrible pressure lands on her left cheek and slides along the cheekbone, drags across her skin, sticks to her skin and pulls at it, rips it off, the pain is  _ terrible, it’s like skin is being torn off her skull- _

She screams.

No sound comes out. 

Then jostling. Everything begins to shift and slide back and forth and  _ back and forth  _ and  _ back  _ and  _ forth.  _ Vanya can feel herself sliding towards the edge of some forbidden precipice. She scrambles for purchase but she’s gone, slipped over the edge, falling endlessly into the deep, black, black, black, black, black, black, nothing. 


	2. Bartok - Violin Concerto No. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sinks. 
> 
> She sinks. 
> 
> She sinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feels good to be back

She sinks.

The first sense that returns to her is her hearing. Snippets of audio trickle into her ears like treacle, dark and slow and vague. 

“Number one?” in a female voice she doesn’t recognize. 

She sinks. 

“The last one,” in the same voice, a bit later. 

What feels like a year is probably more something like a day passes. 

***

“Vanya.”

“Her ... Vanya.” 

This in Luther’s voice, now, suddenly. Vanya tries to will herself to strain to hear more, but it’s no use. It’s like her body is cocooned tightly in jelly, or amber, something suffocating and thick and muffling. 

“She left, Luther,” in Five’s voice, impossibly soft for Five. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

Vanya wonders if they’re talking about her. 

Probably not. It’s never about her. 

(She wonders if that’s a petty thought to have and decides she’s earned a little pettiness. She’s dead, after all.)

“...Allison. Leaving.” Luther. 

Has Allison gone somewhere?

Where?

Vanya envies her. Having somewhere to go. Having the freedom to go there. 

“Actually…. going to stay …. Five.” There it is, unmistakably Klaus, and something deep inside of Vanya  _ hurts _ at the sound of it. 

There is silence. Or rather, there are muffled voices with indistinguishable words. (There is also the fog-jelly, and the ache, and nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing.)

“Pogo’s gone, and Grace is gone, and we avoided the apocalypse, and there’s nothing left, okay…”

Five. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

_ Five.  _

_ Oh god, Five.  _

There is Five left. There is Luther left. There is her  _ family  _ left. There is her  _ family, left behind. _

_ Oh, Five. If only you know what  _ nothing  _ felt like,  _ Vanya thinks, then immediately feels guilty for wishing the damp suffocation of death onto her brother. 

Again, “Allison … leaving.” Where is Allison going? Vanya wonders if she is running away, running towards something, or running herself out. She doesn’t know which one she wants it to be. 

Something wet trickles down the side of Vanya’s head. It itches. She tries to reach over and scratch it, but it seems she doesn’t have arms anymore. Or a head. Or any sort of body, come to think of it.

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

The trickle is still there, though. So is the itch. 

Not the voices, though. 

They’re gone. Completely. 

They don’t come back until Vanya has mentally run through Vivaldi’s winter at least six times, and when they do it’s different. 

The next word that blazes through the fog is Stella. In a voice she doesn’t recognize, smooth and melodic, and with a warm sort of accent like it’s being spoken through a mouthful of cotton. 

And then again. Stella in Klaus’s voice. Stella in Five’s voice. 

Things get clearer, but the fog stays firmly in place. 

Everything goes quiet. The next time Vanya hears anything, it’s clearer than anything she’s ever heard yet. 

Occasionally there’s a hand, reaching through the darkness, poking around. Occasionally there’s a warm dark light sliding around in her peripheral vision, person-like in its shape. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

Then it disappears again. 

The trickle comes and goes. 

Vanya comes and goes, without ever moving. 

Everything goes silent. 

Everything goes white. 

Then everything is pain, and Vanya almost cries, not from sorrow, but because  _ finally, something familiar.  _

Well, she doesn’t really cry. Or does she?

She doesn’t know. It feels like crying. It hurts like crying. It heals like crying. 

Vanya feels like she’s sinking into a pile of jelly. Or quicksand. She doesn’t know. She’s never actually sunk into either, so she doesn’t really have a point of reference. 

She debates fighting. She can’t think of any pros. She can’t think of any cons. 

She decides to fight it. 

A little later, she changes her mind. 

Then she changes her mind back. 

She gets drowsy. 

She feels like she’s being pricked by thousands of little needles. 

She drowns. 

She chokes. 

She flies. 

Her mind whirls. 

Her mind grinds to a halt and grinds against itself like two stones. Or like teeth. 

She bleeds out. She inflates like a balloon and pops into a cloud of confetti. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

She sinks.

She sinks. 

***

When her auditory senses return, it’s Five’s voice. 

“Now listen here, you little shit,” he hisses. “I promised someone I’d take care of you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Now you can either accept it and start fucking blooming, or- no, you know what? That’s your only option, because I’m getting you and me through this whether you want to live or not. Got it?” Five’s voice. 

_ Yes, Five _ , Vanya thinks.  _ I’ve got it. I hear you. I’m trying.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments & kudos are very much appreciated :) i'm on tumblr @ghibli-ghost-cats


	3. Amy Beach – Violin Sonata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her debt has been paid. 
> 
> An eye for an eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its stella tiem bby

Being dead is… surprising peaceful. 

Like being underwater, but you’re… well, dead. 

The voices are more regular, now. But they’re background noise, ambient, muddy. 

Muddy voices. 

The melodic, accented one is the clearest 

Five’s is barely audible.

At times, Vanya hears snippets of Klaus. 

She wonders about the rest of her siblings. 

Mostly she thinks about Allison. 

Mostly she thinks about Allison pulling the trigger. 

She doesn’t blame her. 

She’s grateful. 

Her debt has been paid. 

An eye for an eye. 

Allison’s voice built her life, so in a way, it’s a life for a life. 

***

_ Hey.  _

A voice. 

Not muddy. Not poking through the fog-jelly. A clear, distinct, voice. 

Slightly accented. Not really. 

Vaguely reminiscent of the Indian-sounding one. 

A woman’s voice. 

Gentle-sounding, but firm. 

Strict. 

And coming as if from right beside her. 

_ Hey, you.  _

_ Hmmm,  _ Vanya thinks. 

_ There you are,  _ says the voice. 

_ Hmmm,  _ Vanya thinks back, testing the waters. 

_ I hope that’s not all you know to say _ , says the voice. 

_ Hm,  _ Vanya thinks back. 

_ Oh, Lord.  _

_ You’re not giving me much to respond to.  _

_ I suppose that’s fair.  _ There’s a pause.  _ What’s your name? _

Vanya wonders how to answer that. With her number? With her name? For a second, she can’t remember either. 

_ Vanya,  _ she thinks, almost unsure. 

_ Oh, good, I found you,  _ says the voice. 

_ Hm,  _ Vanya thinks. 

_ Listen,  _ says the voice,  _ there’s someone who wants to talk to you.  _

_ Hmm,  _ Vanya thinks. 

_ I know, I know, you’re dead, you just want to be left alone. But trust me, if you don’t your soul to decompose, you’re gonna want to take this call.  _

_ I don’t know,  _ Vanya muses.  _ Maybe that’s exactly what I want. It’s pretty relaxing so far. Who are you, anyways? _

_ My name’s Stella.  _

A silence. 

_ Hmm,  _ Vanya thinks. 

_ Heard of me? _

_ Yes.  _

_ Heard what? _

_ Your name.  _

A sigh.  _ So are you taking this call? _

_ Depends. Who’s it from? _

_ Five or Klaus? _

_ Neither. _

_ Diego or Luther? _

_ Ben.  _

_ Impossible,  _ Vanya thinks drowsily,  _ Ben’s dead.  _

_ Oh, well in THAT case,  _ says Stella sarcastically, and Vanya remembers. 

_ Hm,  _ she says, and Stella fires back  _ If you Hmm one more time, I will find a way to come back to life just to kill myself.  _

_ You’re dead too, then.  _

_ No, I’m just chilling in the afterworld because I have nothing better to do. Yes, I’m dead, Vanya. Now will you  _ please  _ let me put you through to your brother?  _

Vanya almost thinks  _ Hmmm _ , but catches herself.  _ Sure.  _

What has she got to lose? 

_ Great,  _ Stella sighs.  _ Now if you’ll excuse me, your other brother’s being an idiot.  _

_ Sounds about right,  _ Vanya muses. 

_ You don’t even know which brother.  _

_ That pretty much could apply to any at most given times, honestly.  _

_ You’re not so bad, Vanya,  _ Stella says, and Vanya detects a vague tone of amusement in her voice.  _ Putting you through to one Ben Hargreeves.  _

Then she’s gone, and Vanya can feel her absence, except her voice is still there, it’s just on the other side of the fog-jelly now, and Vanya can almost make out what she’s saying. 

It sounds something like,  _ Look at me. This is not the time to be melodramatic. I don’t have time to watch you destroy yourself. It’s pointless, it’s stupid, and most of all it’s a waste. You don’t want to be wasteful, do you? _

Vanya agrees with the sentiment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways if u went back and reread part 1 (not that i expect y'all to lol) you'd get a sense of the timeline here. everything vanya hears said out loud outside of the spirit world is a quote from ATTWF
> 
> come scream at me on tumblr: @ghibli-ghost-cats (or @lantern-hill-studies if you're into cottagecore/studyblr)  
> i have a tellonym - https://tellonym.me/foycastle


	4. Beethoven - Violin Sonata No. 9 (‘Kreutzer’)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A peace lily,” Stella says, sounding proud. “Your brothers love me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy

Turns out, getting to Ben is not as easy as redirecting a call. 

Stella tells her Ben is trying to get to her, but that he’s been inhabiting the human world around Klaus for so long that there’s some amount of barrier in between them. 

Vanya doesn’t mind. 

She’ll wait. 

She sinks. 

She sinks. 

She tries not to sink. 

She claws at the fog-jelly. 

And besides there’s Stella, now, popping in occasionally to grumble affectionately about Five or Klaus and, sometimes, about herself. 

Vanya learns about a man named Dharun, and his wife. 

SHe learns about Stella, and that Stella is … a plant?

“A peace lily,” Stella says, sounding proud. “Your brothers love me.” 

Vanya doesn’t doubt it of Klaus. 

She’s not so sure about Five. 

She hopes it’s true, though. 

Sometimes Vanya hears Stella speak from beyond the fog-jelly, which is strange because a) she’s dead, b) she’s a plant, and c) Stella denies ever speaking out loud. 

Still, Vanya hears, unmistakably, bits of dialogue, though one-sided, between Stella and Five or Stella and Klaus. 

Once Stella says to Five, “Don’t look at me. You’ve got to save yourself. Isn’t that your whole point?”

It isn’t aimed at Vanya. It still hurts. 

Vanya claws harder at the fog-jelly. 

***

The shapes return. 

They’re no clearer than usual. Still just as fuzzy; still nothing more than vaguely person-shaped blobs floating in her peripherals, and they come and go the way spots used to come and go when Vanya rubbed her eyes too hard after another sleepless night alone. 

They dance in and out of her vision, floating, floating, floating, in and out, in and out. Sometimes they rush her, get so close to her she thinks they’re going to touch, and then at the essential moment they’re gone. 

It’s frightening. Vanya is not frightened. 

She isn’t sure what, exactly, she feels. She isn’t sure what, exactly, she’s supposed to. She isn’t sure what she wants to. 

She isn’t even sure what she’s  _ supposed  _ to  _ want  _ to feel. 

There is only the darkness, which is sometimes light; there are only the blobs, which are sometimes not there; there is only confusion, which is sometimes clarity; there is only Vanya, who is beginning to doubt whether she  _ is  _ at all. 

There is Stella, at least, who is Stella. She comes and goes without warning, her voice the only thing Vanya has to hang on to, the only part of her Vanya can grasp and comprehend. 

“You need to fight,” she tells Vanya, without specifying what Vanya needs to fight, or how, or even why. Vanya doesn’t ask. She doesn’t know why. Logically, she should. Still, she doesn’t. 

Time passes. Vanya has no measure for it. She has no idea how long ago she died. 

Time continues to pass. At least, Vanya assumes that it is passing. She has no idea how long ago she died. 

Time might possibly be passing. She is probably dead. There is no way for her to be sure. 

***

Vanya is familiar with the shapes by now, the way you can get used to being surprised. Every time they are different, different shapes, different forms, differently illuminated, and yet they are still all the same. 

There are a couple that begin to darken, solidify. There are a couple that stay solid a little longer than the rest. There are a couple that linger. 

Vanya tries to press against the fog-jelly. It is difficult considering she has no limbs. 

Vanya tries to strain her eyes to see the shapes with more clarity. It is difficult considering she has no idea whether she still has eyes or not. 

It’s difficult to move when you have no idea what form you’re in. 

It’s difficult being (presumably) dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you know someone dead and i’m getting this whole underworld thing wrong pls dont yell at me ok  
> come scream at me on tumblr: @ghibli-ghost-cats  
> i have a tellonym - https://tellonym.me/foycastle (i only answer asks with an "x" in them to avoid bots)


	5. Violin Concerto – Ligeti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya pushes, a sudden, violent something writhing in the place where she thinks her chest must have used to be, is this what Ben feels like, and something gives, something breaks. Not the fog. Something in her, and out of nowhere, Vanya is aware her hands are making fists, which is not surprising until she realises that wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: makes all previous chapters ~ 500 words  
> me: hey what if this chapter was 2.5 x that

Stella tells her that Ben is trying to get to her. 

Vanya has no idea what to do with this information. 

She does not know where she is. 

She does not know what form she is in. 

She does not know where Ben is. 

She does not know Ben. 

It has been so long since his death- Vanya wonders if he, too, had to go through what she is going through right now, if he, too, felt caught in tapioca jelly, felt immortalized in impermanence, felt lost and found and tired and unbearably antsy. 

Or perhaps it is different for each person. 

Vanya has had time enough to think, and her thinking has set forth the hypothesis that what she is suspended in is a waiting room of sorts. Something temporary, a prelude, an intermission between life and death. 

She believes in this for several reasons. The most compelling one is that the thought of permanent suspension in this indescribably state is more than Vanya feels able to bear. 

Now if she had her violin… but Vanya doesn’t, not that she’s aware of having arms to play it with. 

Anyways. Ben. 

_ Ben.  _

It’s just been so  _ long.  _

Ben had always been the baby of the family. The one who couldn’t stomach the blood and guts, and Vanya would’ve felt a sense of kinship with him if it hadn’t been for how absolutely vicious he became when he was - that. Vanya remembers him coming home, shoulders shaking with desperate, open sobs, tears drawing semi-clean lines in the blood and guts splattered on his face. She remembers this, and remembers the stony-faced silence of the others; remembers how quick they all were to grow tired of Ben’s contrariness - if he had trouble killing or hurting they would have understood - they all felt it, try as they might to quash that the people they killed were _ people _ , (bad people, killers sometimes, but were they any better?) - but Ben’s ease when killing - the  _ change  _ in him when he became -  _ that _ \- well, it’s what they all wanted, wasn’t it? To be able to just - switch on - with no remorse…

He killed mercilessly and without hesitation, which in their twisted, isolated minds was what they all craved to be able to do - after Ben, Diego had it the easiest, given the distance between him and those he hurt (except when things got up close and personal, and then it was kill or be called into their bastard father’s office that night and reappearing a week later shaking and wordless) Allison had her words as a shield, the indirectness of her slaughters to protect her conscience, and Luther - Luther had his devotion, his blindness, his refusal to think to keep the cracked necks and lifeless eyes away from his as he slept.

Klaus stayed behind most of the time. He was used for other purposes. 

Vanya stayed away from the left wing of the house when Klaus was summoned by Reginald. She would play for hours, as loudly as she could, until her arms ached. In a twisted way she craved these moments, when Klaus’s high screams drew and pushed her siblings from their rooms and to her, the only source of noise, a distraction, the center of attention for one, and Vanya played harder, played until her fingers bled, until the thin foam of the shoulder-rest wasn’t enough to keep the hard plastic from biting her collarbones, until her eyes were blurry with tears and the chin-rest was slick was sweat, until she hit false notes, desperate to save her siblings the only way she ever could or maybe just to keep their eyes on her or maybe just to punish herself for  _ craving  _ these moments where her siblings sought her out, for craving being looked at, being seen, while her favourite brother  _ screamed  _ and  _ screamed.  _

Yes, Klaus carried a different burden. 

And then there was Five. 

Five, whose power could do nothing  _ but _ get him up close and personal.. Five, always so ahead of the pack, because what excuse could he possibly shield himself with from Reginald if he left anyone alive?

Yes, they envied Ben. How dare he be better than them and yet require the most care? How dare he stay soft and sensitive when the rest of them learned to sharpen their teeth on pain? How dare he be so- so- childish?

Ben clung to his softness like Klaus clung to Ben, sometimes, when he returned from whatever dark room Reginald kept him in, because Ben was the only one who would let him, the only one who was properly horrified when Klaus confided, the only one who wouldn’t let himself get desensitized enough to not hold Klaus delicately, like an injured bird. 

Back then they all thought Ben was the dunce, even Vanya, though she injected her sentiments towards him with a thick vein of pity and compassion she wasn’t sure the others bothered to consider. Back then they called Ben weak. 

It amazes her now, his strength. 

She wonders if, as a ghost, he is still like that. Soft. Strong. Yielding, but without giving up his ground. 

Or has he become bitter? Has what must feel like an eternity finally bent and broken him into a different shape? Vanya is hesitant to guess, hesitant to expect. 

Hesitant to want. 

Stella tells her that Ben is trying to get to her. 

Vanya has no idea what to do with this information. 

***

Tentatively, Vanya reaches out with a part of herself she can’t exactly identify. 

She meets soft, yielding resistance. 

She presses. The jelly gives, but does not break. 

Frustrated, Vanya draws back. 

It makes her angry, this. This feeling of  _ uselessness,  _ of  _ helplessness.  _

Vanya is no stranger to incompetence, specifically her own. She is used to this feeling. She is used to being the one who stands by and does nothing. 

It should not make her angry as it does. 

There are some things you cannot get used to. Uselessness is one of them. 

There are some things you can get used to. Anger is one of them, and Vanya is fucking  _ furious.  _

So even in death, this is her lot. Even in death, her role is to be trapped. Immobile. Her role is silence. Her role is quiet. Her role is invisibility. 

_ No.  _

Vanya  _ pushes, _ a sudden, violent something writhing in the place where she thinks her chest must have used to be, _ is this what Ben feels like,  _ and something  _ gives,  _ something breaks. Not the fog. Something in her, and out of nowhere, Vanya is aware her hands are making fists, which is not surprising until she realises that  _ wait.  _

_ She has hands.  _

There is a sudden  _ thrilling power _ that is both terrifying and envigorating in its ferocity. The last time Vanya gave in to this, she died. 

_ What have I got to lose then,  _ she thinks to herself, feeling a savage smile split her lips. Because she has lips, now. 

_ I’m waking up,  _ Vanya thinks, and is filled with sudden, savage glee. 

Every part of her tingles as it wakes up, and it hurts the way it hurts to punch a wall with a fist that’s fallen asleep, which is a sensation that Vanya is  _ intimately  _ familiar with, for reasons that Vanya takes and  _ feeds into her power  _ because she is  _ done  _ being on the sidelines. 

She isn’t fighting this for Klaus, or Five, or Ben, whoever he is now, or Stella. This is her, all her. 

Vanya  _ pushes,  _ and now every part of her is strong, because it has always been. 

She is  _ done  _ being held back. 

She feels the fog-jelly  _ stretch.  _

_ There.  _

_ She is strong. _

_ She pushes,  _ and is filled with a sudden, terrible calm. 

She will win. 

It is not an idle reassurance she tells herself to feel better. 

It is a simple, inevitable truth. 

Vanya will win. 

There is only so long you can contain something as explosive as her before it erupts, and Vanya  _ does,  _ and everything is  _ stretching, stretching, stretching- _

_ and it pops- _

and Vanya is free, free of whatever fog was holding her back, free of sinking, standing in the middle of an endless darkness, human as anything,  _ powerful,  _ and there is nothing she recognizes and nothing but endless, well-lit darkness, but she is  _ free,  _ and she is  _ powerful,  _ and she is  _ human.  _

Her fingers curl, and she feels the familiar outline of violin strings and horsehair in each. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tiger  
> He destroyed his cage  
> Yes  
> YES  
> The tiger is out
> 
> come scream at me on tumblr: @ghibli-ghost-cats  
> i have a tellonym - https://tellonym.me/foycastle


	6. Brahms - Violin Sonata No. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something there, something at the very edges of the darkness, something that her playing can’t- doesn’t- cut- something that absorbs it instead, something the sound sinks into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its ben tiem bby

It feels like years since Vanya’s laid fingers on a violin. The first thing she does is tuck the instrument under chin, not to play, just to feel the familiarity of plastic under her chin and foam on her collarbone. The shoulder-rest is already on the violin, which strikes Vanya as a considerate touch from whatever cosmic entity has gifted her the violin. 

It occurs her that this undefined cosmic entity could very well be  _ her- _ after all, she is less than alive and more than dead, and most definitely beyond human. 

She pauses with the bow over the strings, her hand bent on the bow, her thumb underneath the grip, the bow, its shape somewhere between a square and curvy bracket. There is something to be said for caution, she decides, and resolves to take stock first. 

Lowering her bow, the violin still a comforting weight on her shoulder, she looks around. Everything is black and black and black and it stretches on for what looks like forever. 

She’s  _ free,  _ though; she has a physical form now, and it’s comforting in a way Vanya never expected her body to be; it feels like a seamless part of her, now, instead of something separate, something to have an opinion on, something to hide, something to hate or love. Vanya is simply  _ Vanya.  _ Her consciousness, her mind, her body- these are all just parts of her, and Vanya is no longer obsessing over puzzle pieces, but suddenly aware of the magnificence of the final image. 

She is, of course, still  _ aware  _ of her physical form- though perhaps  _ physical  _ isn’t the right word, she notes. Though who is she to assume things about the spirit world? 

There’s blackness on all sides. Something about it is familiar, recognizable; there’s some aspect of it that Vanya has seen before, yet she can’t put her finger on it. 

She turns in a slow circle, taking it all in- what there is to take in, at least. 

Which isn’t much. 

Vanya takes a couple steps, her movements still brisk and powerful. She’s not quite down from the high of power yet; it takes a conscious effort to stop in her tracks, to not just keep storming on into the immeasurable blackness. 

She reins herself in. She knows what happens when she doesn’t, now. 

So she can move. 

Vanya raises her bow again, lays it on the taut strings. Her fingers wrap around the neck, and then Vanya lets tension bleed through her wrist and into her fingers, lets them tense, lifts all her fingers except the middle one off the strings, and feels the familiarity of a violin string pressing against her calluses. 

It’s the same body, then. Same calluses. 

Or is she imagining them?

Regardless, Vanya draws her bow across the strings. The sound is deep and resonant, the note resonating louder than she’d expected, and for a second Vanya thinks the air shivers. 

She tries again, this time a different note, the opening few to  _ The Phantom of the Opera,  _ and the notes cut through the air like a knife, and the  _ blackness shivers.  _ The sound is cold and clear and mellow at the same time and it cuts through the dark with exacting precision until it- doesn’t. 

There’s something there, something at the very edges of the darkness, something that her playing can’t-  _ doesn’t- _ cut- something that absorbs it instead, something the sound sinks into. 

(Except Vanya is  _ done  _ sinking.)

Up goes her bow again and down it comes on the violin, hard this time. A few quick notes, then pizzicato, Vanya feels the air shiver, feels the trembling, reaches out with the part of her that is more god than man, presses tentative, feeling fingers against whatever is swallowing her sound, and plays harder. 

(Vanya is no stranger to having her sound silenced.)

She plays, plays. At first the notes are random, a melody she makes up as she goes- and then they melt into Biber’s first Mystery Sonata. 

It’s a brisk piece, and the notes go fast and slow and soft and  _ loud loud loud  _ and Vanya  _ relishes _ the way her touch makes the world tremble, savours the responsiveness of it, and then pulls back, holds herself back, plays quiet and slow for a few notes and then speeds up again. 

Nothing gives much. Vanya doesn’t mind. 

Biber’s full Mystery Sonatas, combined, run for well over two hours, and they’re far from the only pieces in Vanya’s repertoire. 

In the end, it takes the Sonatas, Bartok’s Violin Concerto No. 2, Amy Beach’s Violin Sonata, Beethoven’s Violin Sonata No. 9, Ligeti’s Violin Concerto, and a repeat of the first two Mystery Sonatas before the world breaks. 

And when it breaks, it does so  _ magnificently.  _ It’s an  _ explosion,  _ a storm, a hurricane, and Vanya is the eye. She throws her head back as the world around burns and sizzles with explosive energy- lets it all explode. It falls apart in fragments- 

She feels herself fall- 

And then she’s  _ surrounded,  _ surrounded with the shapes she saw earlier, all of them milling about, except this time-

they’re more than shapes -

They’re  _ people.  _ Fully human-looking, alive-looking (except they can’t be, can they?) people, pushing past her, walking fast, looking worried. 

She doesn’t recognize them, and they barely pay her any attention- they’re all too busy pushing past her towards- what?

She can’t tell, but there’s  _ something  _ far ahead in front of her, something she can’t quite make out…

Someone brushes past her, almost knocking her over, and she’s off now, pushing through the crowd, trying to see what it  _ is,  _ exactly, that everyone’s in such a rush to get to. She looks some of them over, as she goes, but she doesn’t recognize them. A lot of them are old- which she guesses make sense- some of them are children, which makes her ache- but the ones at the front are her age, stronger than the rest, shoving their way forwards. 

She gets close enough to make out what it is they’re heading towards, and what the hold-up is, and she sees something she can’t possibly figure out how to describe, some kind of- tear?- in the air, glowing with power. 

A rip, in the blackness. And beyond is- soft light? Movement? Wood and stone? Plants? The interior of an apartment or house, it looks like. There’s a muffled voice coming from beyond the rip, audible even despite the anxious muttering of the people around her. 

Up close, Vanya can make out a man, roughly her age, dressed in black, trying to keep people away from the rip. He’s pale and sweaty despite his naturally tan complexion, desperately herding the crowd away, but they keep returning; and judging by the intensity of the crowd, he won’t be able to hold them off much longer. 

It takes Vanya less than ten seconds to make her decision. 

By the time she’s chosen, her bow’s already on her violin strings; by the time she’s thought it through a bit more, she’s playing the opening to Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1. The air splits open, the world shifts on its axis, and the crowds part like the red sea. 

For a second it’s easy, too easy, and then the crowd starts to fight back. Vanya plays faster, but the crowd is desperate; angry; they’re reaching out for her, grabbing at her; her back is to the rip now, the man, who is vaguely familiar like a half-remembered dream, standing beside her, the crowd screaming and clawing to get closer, her music pushing, pushing, pushing them away- except every time she gives a push they just scrabble to get back, scrabble towards her,  _ desperate _ trying to get through the rip, through to tear, which leads to- where? She doesn’t know- and it’s then that the man yells, “Push them back one more time!” in a voice that Vanya  _ recognizes,  _ so she does, and theres a hand on her back yanking her backwards through the hole- she’s falling again, falling, falling- falling- 

And then everything is warm light and quiet noise. She feels wood beneath her and sees dust motes float lazily past and there’s a worried, panting, wide-eyed face across from her on the wood floor of wherever they are. 

  
The face frowns in disbelief.  _ “Vanya? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont take your physical form for granted folks. you would most definitely miss it if your consciousness was instead suspended in some weird fog jelly thing
> 
> come scream at me on tumblr: @ghibli-ghost-cats  
> i have a tellonym - https://tellonym.me/foycastle  
> i have a yt channel!!! it's completely unrelated to fandom shit but check me out anyways @lantern academia


	7. Brahms - Violin Sonata No. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben.

“ _ Vanya? _ ”

His voice is incredulous, disbelieving, but it has the ring of familiarity to it; both in that he clearly recognizes her, and that she recognizes it, recognizes him, this must be-

Ben. 

He’s dressed in dark clothes, a hoodie under a leather jacket- Vanya  _ remembers  _ that leather jacket, remembers Klaus picking it out for Ben during one of their many midnight escapades away from the Academy, cracking some joke about Ben needing at least one vaguely fashionable item of clothing in his wardrobe- she remembers how Ben caught the tossed jacket silently, considered it, and actually took it, despite it being several sizes too big. 

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason it was a shock- none of them had any money, why would they, that would give them  _ control  _ and  _ options _ and why on earth would Reginald give them that- so here was Ben, sweet, sensitive, straight-laced, do-the-right-thing Ben,  _ stealing  _ a leather jacket from a thrift store. 

None of them said anything. What was there to say? What was there to chastise him for? How could they in good conscience take the moral high ground on theft when they were all murderers? 

They were fourteen, their hands bloodier than Lady Macbeth’s (Ben didn’t speak for a week after they read Macbeth at age eight). He grew into the jacket- not that he got much use out of it living at the Academy. They were constantly being watched, after all, even if by that point Reginald was slacking off on surveillance and discipline- wearing it for a few stolen moments here and there. One time Vanya had caught Grace slipping into Ben’s room, black leather peeking out from under a pile of fresh uniform laundry- neither of them ever acknowledged the incident, but after that incident Vanya sometimes caught Grace and Ben talking quietly in dimly lit corners or while passing each other in the hallways. 

And now here was Ben, dressed like a burglar, pale and shocked despite his naturally tan skin tone. 

“Ben,” Vanya says, and it comes out more of a question that she’d intended it to sound like. Ben swallows, nods, a quick up-down jerk of the head, and pulls himself up to a sitting person. 

Vanya takes the opportunity to look around; they’re back in what looks like the human world  _ thank god,  _ although it could all be some twisted illusion- at this point Vanya isn’t sure much would surprise her. 

But it looks reassuringly real and solid. It must be early morning wherever they are- the room they’re lying in is illuminated by soft, filtered, golden light. 

Rays of sunlight paint the dust motes floating around them into visibility; everything is quiet and still in that brisk golden way mornings have. The floor is wood, worn and old, scuffed up by shoes and furniture; the entire room itself has a comfortable, worn-in feel, like a good hiking boot that’s been worn enough to qualify as a good stomping boot. There are plants sitting quietly in the corners- some Vanya recognizes, others she’s never seen before- 

“ _ Vanya.” _

She turns back to Ben with a start. He’s kneeling in front of her now, must have moved while she was busy taking it all in, and he’s reaching a hand forwards. Vanya flinches, and he freezes, draws back a little bit, his eyes not so much hurt as worried, all gentle concern, all  _ are you okay  _ and  _ it’s okay if not  _ and it’s so very  _ Ben-  _

“ _ Ben, _ ” she chokes, and there’s a vinegary burning somewhere behind her eyes, near her temples. She can’t stop herself from reaching out a hand, just to check he’s real- miracle of miracles  _ he is.  _ The leather is soft as she remembers it, soft but tough, yielding but strong, a place to hide, and it’s all so much-

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, and she has no idea what she’s apologizing for, or to who, but she is, she’s so fucking sorry, Ben is here-

“Vanya,” he says again, only it’s soft this time. He says it like he’s afraid the syllables will break apart if he’s too rough with them. He moves forward, and then his arms are around her. He’s  _ real  _ and  _ solid  _ and warm, almost; she can feel the collar of his jacket and the scuffed softness of his hood against her cheek, and she tucks herself into this brief moment of comfort. 

Ben makes a soft noise, all worry and comfort. One of his hands is resting on the back of her neck- warm, slightly callused, the slightest bit heavy and Vanya is completely incapable of forming a single coherent thought. Everything is a fuzzy whirling mess of  _ Ben is here  _ and  _ Ben is real  _ and  _ I’m so fucking sorry- _

“Vanya,” Ben says again; this time it’s an acknowledgement, a question, a greeting all rolled in one; there’s a hint of a smile to it and Vanya laughs against Ben’s shoulder, feeling mildly hysterical. She pulls back to look at him, her hands still braced on his shoulders, his still gently holding her arms; they search each other’s eyes for a moment, and then Vanya tackles him backwards to the ground. He yelps in surprise, an indignified sound that makes Vanya giggle, and that sets Ben off in turn until they’re both falling to pieces over absolutely nothing. 

(It’s like they’re kids again- only they never really were, were they? It’s more like, both in their thirties, they’re suddenly kids for the first time.)

For a while, neither of them moves away. Something in Vanya keeps her hands fisted in Ben’s jacket, keeps her face pressed into his shoulder; she holds him like a bird she’s afraid will fly away if she gives it the chance, and Ben holds her the same way, his hands gentle on her back and in her hair. Vanya lets herself sink into it; it’s warm and soft and accommodating; and then a cold icicle of guilt spears her through the chest. 

_ Is this what I put Allison through? _

The thought has her freezing up, drawing back, sitting back on her heels; Ben lets her go, but looks at her, puzzled worry written between the lines in his forehead. “Vanya,” he says, again. “You okay?”

They’re the first words he’d said to her besides her name in years that feel like centuries. 

“Yeah,” she forces out, through a throat that feels like it’s filling with sand. Ben sits up and kneels in front of her. One of his hands lands on her shoulder. 

“You sure?” he asks, and he’s not asking if she’s okay as much as he’s asking if she’s ready to talk about it. 

Vanya swallows, pushes herself backwards until her back’s against the wall of the room they’re in. Ben mirrors her, tucking himself beside her. Their shoulders bump and Vanya fights the urge to lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s just…” 

It takes her a second to find the words. “I forgot how much I missed you.” When she gets up the courage to throw him a sideways glance, his lips are quirked the tiniest bit in a sad little smile. 

“Hmm,” he says, letting his head  _ thunk _ against the wall behind them. “And you’re worried about the rest of the numbers.”

Vanya swallows. This isn’t the conversation she wants to have right now, now that she’s finally gotten her brother back, the brother she never realized she would miss most of all, the brother none of them ever found out what happened to. 

Ben notices her discomfort, somehow- of course he does- and he knocks his knee into hers. “Are you okay?” 

Vanya had forgotten- they’re not in whatever bizarro world she was trapped in before anymore- they’re in what  _ looks _ like the human world now. She glances up and around again; the room looks like it might have been a store, once, but now it’s desolate- it’s been stripped of paint, furniture, wallpaper, decorations- except for a few cardboard boxes in the corner and  _ many _ plants, there isn’t much to see. 

“Hey,” Ben says, soft, and Vanya blinks, all her questions coming back to her in a rush. 

“I’m fine,” she blurts out. “But what was- that? With the- the fog-jelly? And the shapes, but then the people?”

“Fog-jelly,” Ben ponders, then snorts. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

“How would you put it?” Vanya asks, genuinely curious. 

Ben shifts, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. I suppose I never gave it much thought.”

“But you were caught in it too, then,” Vanya asks, just to make sure, and Ben nods. 

“After I died-,” he starts, and before she can stop herself Vanya blurts out, “How did you die?”

Ben goes silent. 

Vanya presses her shoulder against him, a reminder that she is here too, now, and he relaxes the tiniest bit, leaning into her. Wordlessly, Vanya tucks her head into the crook of Ben’s neck, and he practically goes boneless, his head coming to rest atop hers. 

It’s a little while before Ben says anything, but Vanya doesn’t push, even though she’s dying (no pun intended) to know the truth of what happened. 

Vanya doesn’t remember much of the day Ben disappeared. They were twenty, she remembers that much- she remembers Ben not showing up for breakfast one morning- and they didn’t think anything of it, barely noticed, she remembers with a pang of guilt. But they were so used to it, so used to the disappearances and reappearances, so used to their siblings coming back “unharmed” that it wasn’t out of the ordinary-

Until it was. 

After a few days Klaus got worried, and though she said nothing, so did Vanya. Sitting in the corner watching her siblings quarrel. (“Luther, I’m telling you, Ben’s never been away this long before-,” “Klaus, would you shut up? Dad knows what he’s doing, okay? If something happened to Ben, he’d have let us know.”)

_ Would he though?  _ Vanya had wondered, then kept her mouth shut more out of habit than anything else, even as Klaus wilted under Luther’s glowering stare and slipped away, muttering something about big brainless brutes. 

Three days later, Grace fetched them all into the living room, looking somber and serious, and the news was broken to them that Ben Hargreeves was dead. 

(“How?” Vanya had summoned up the courage to ask, and Reginald’s cold, glittering eyes had been shot through with contempt as he’d told her it was none of her business. They’d been ordered out and away.)

“Do you remember the night it happened?” Ben asks, quiet and serious, and Vanya starts back to reality with a jolt. 

“It happened at night?” Vanya blurts out, and Ben laughs- it’s a short, uncomfortable bark of laughter with sharp edges, and Vanya finds herself getting cut on them, bleeding guilt into his story. 

“Yes.” Ben shifts. He’s tense again now, and Vanya slips her arm under his, wraps them in each other as best she can. 

Ben relaxes the tiniest fraction of a bit. Vanya counts it as a win, and when he does speak, his voice is quiet, but steady. “I tried to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments r life


	8. Bruch - Violin Concerto No. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check end notes for tws

"You all used to envy me, I think. And I get it now, I do. But….”

Ben blows out a breath, and it’s a gesture so reminiscent of his former self that Vanya is suddenly awash in deja vu. 

“It was nothing to envy. The blood, the killing… I was still  _ there _ when that part of me took over, except everything was… muddy, like I was watching someone else do what I was doing. Or like a dream,” he frowns suddenly, looking unsure. “I don’t know. I wasn’t totally powerless. I think a nightmare is the best way to describe it. You know when you’re asleep, and you’re making decisions, but once you wake up you’re not sure if it was really  _ you _ calling the shots or not?”

“Yes,” Vanya says. It comes out too quiet for Befn to hear, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Yes.”

“It was kind of like that,” Ben muses. “It wasn’t that bad when I was in the middle of it. And when I was a kid, well… it wasn’t really what I was doing that scared me, but what I might be doing. Things got a lot clearer as I grew up. Back then I didn’t really understand what was going on or why I felt so frightened and guilty afterwards.” 

“So I decided to leave. I didn’t tell anyone, because-,”

“You didn’t trust us,” Vanya guesses. She doesn’t blame him. 

“What? No,” Ben frowns. “Of course I trusted you. It’s just, I was scared.”

“Of?”

“Of Dad.” Even now, he lowers his voice to talk about him; afraid of being overheard; though Reginald is dead and buried- the thought comes to Vanya, where is he now, after death?- but she doesn’t want to derail Ben’s story, so she tucks that question away amongst all her other ones ( _ what the hell was all that about with the shapes and the people and the rift, where are we, who is Stella, where are Klaus and Five, where are the others) _ and listens, for now. 

“I was afraid he would find out. I was… paranoid, I think… of getting caught. I knew if he caught me trying to escape he’d never take his eyes off me again and, well… that would be it, I guess. I’d be done for.” 

“The night I left, the weather was perfect. Well, it was  _ nice; _ perfect for me would’ve been storm clouds, maybe even rain, to make it harder to search, but the sky was clear and the moon was bright. I didn’t take much- well, anything, really. Except what was on my back." He huffs out a laugh and tugs on the sleeves of his leather jacket. "The only thing I cared about was this old thing, anyways."

"Did you get caught?"

Ben nods, jaw tight. 

"By Dad?"

Ben swallows. Fidgets with his fingers. "No. By Mom."

Vanya can't believe her ears. "By Grace? Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," Ben says wryly. 

Vanya lets her head fall back against the wall. "And she turned you in?"

She still can't believe it. Of course, she knows Grace was built by Reginald to keep an eye on them, to keep them under control, her more than the others, but she can't believe that Grace would condemn Ben to- to-

She'd always thought Grace was on their side. 

"Yup," Ben says sadly. 

"And then what?" Vanya asks, still trying to process this new information. 

"He yelled at me for a while. Tried to convince me I was being selfish. I mouthed off. He didn't like that," Ben says, voice dry with the irony of understatement. "Hit me and sent me back to my room. Pogo accompanied me back up."

_ Pogo too?  _ Vanya wants to ask, but doesn't. "So then what? Did you try to run away again? And how did you end up dead, then?"

"I didn't," Ben says quietly. "Try to run away again, that is. I knew I couldn’t kill anymore- and I knew I’d never be able to make a break for it again."

"How- I mean, what-,"

Ben turns to look at her. His eyes are older than they’ve any right to be, and there’s something in them that pleads sympathy of her- it’s a look Vanya thought was reserved for old people and children. But Ben has always been more sensitive than the rest of them- at least the part of him that’s _Ben_.

His face begs her to understand. “I stole one of Diego’s knives.”

***

_ Ben killed himself.  _

It’s been- what? two days?- since he told her, and Vanya is still reeling. 

She barely remembers asking the rest of her questions, barely cares about the answers. ( _ What the hell was all that about with the shapes and the people and the rift? “They were ghosts, like you. When you broke away from being swallowed into whatever that thing is, you caused a break.” Where are we? “1615 Church Avenue, New York, New York.” Who is Stella? “A plant. And a person. And a ghost. It’s a long story.” Where are Klaus and Five? “At the moment, probably asleep upstairs.” Where are the others? “I don’t know. They… left.”) _

All she can think about is  _ I stole one of Diego’s knives.  _ Of Ben saying those words, almost whispered, almost a confession.

She doesn’t think it’d hurt like this if Ben had been hit by a car escaping. Or killed in combat. But the  _ injustice  _ of it hurts her, presses salt into her own wounds; the words nag at her, tease up her own memories of whispering  _ I deserve better  _ into a tear-stained pillow so long it became a question more than an act of defiance.

_ It isn’t fair.  _ That’s what hurts the most about it. The thought of Ben, sweet, lovely  _ child _ Ben, twenty, yes, but Vanya now knows how young that truly is- creeping down the stairs and out the door- almost clear- almost free- and then caught by  _ Grace,  _ of all people- marshalled up the stairs by  _ Pogo-  _ realizing that his life was going to end that night, and he would have to be the one to do it-

She presses her palms into her eyes. She can imagine it all too well, the swell of hope in him at the beginning of the evening, his trembling fingers on the wooden bannister in the centre of the house, and then everything coming crashing down around him-

She wonders if he cried, if he was sobbing-  _ fuck- he was a  _ child- did he wish someone would come in and find him before- so he wouldn’t be- alone-

“ _ Fuck, _ ” she’d whispered, a couple minutes after he’d dropped the bombshell. 

“Yup,” Ben had replied, popping the  _ p _ . 

Ben killed himself

It’s been three days. 

Their childhoods were  _ seriously fucked up.  _

Ben-

“You okay?” Ben had asked, sounding concerned, as if  _ Vanya  _ was the one to be worried about, and Vanya had looked at him in disbelief and remembered just how long it had been since they’d last spoken, wondered if they had ever really spoken at all, ever heard each other. 

“I heard your music,” Ben says, when she expresses this to him hours later. “So I think I did hear you. I should have spoken to you,” he self-admonishes, and she shushes him. 

“Does anyone else know?” she asks him, as he shows her around 1615. Her brain is buzzing with new information, split into pride over Klaus and Five’s cozy little home and guilt and grief over  _ Ben killing himself.  _ “Klaus?”

“No,” Ben shrugs, grabbing Vanya’s hand and pulling her through a door without opening it. She gasps at the feeling on sinking through solid wood and coming out on the other side, and Ben grins. “Feels weird, doesn’t it?”

Vanya thinks about the distance between them and yet the closeness, thinks about where she is now and where she was a week ago, thinks about Ben and Klaus and Five and Stella. “Yeah, it does.” 

After Vanya’s met Stella properly- and all the other plants- Ben returns to Klaus. They decide not to tell him for now, decide to wait until he can see her for himself. 

***

Ben returns to Klaus. 

Vanya returns to her instruments. 

Luckily for her, they seem to remember her; they fit into her hands comfortably, reassuringly, and her repertoire creeps back into her head in the form of brief melodies she hardly remembers. A few notes; a beat, then she remembers a crescendo, a particularly difficult or easy segment, 

The bits and pieces that come together ever so slowly- and it’s a sentiment that goes for her conversations with Ben as well. She’s hesitant, tentative about him at first; there’s so much  _ guilt _ and she doesn’t even know exactly why; but the ice cracks earlier than she expected and plunges her into the surprisingly warm waters of reacquaintance. 

They talk. 

They talk about Klaus. His addiction, his withdrawal, the plants… they talk about Five, his anger, his determination… and Vanya is  _ so _ proud of them both. 

They talk about the plants. Vanya learns their names, meets Stella in person, extends silent thanks and is met with a silent  _ you’re welcome.  _

They don’t talk about Allison. 

_ She’s alive,  _ Vanya now knows. She thought she killed her. The relief is almost enough to cancel out the guilt  _ because Allison’s voice is gone.  _ And even worse,  _ Allison  _ is gone, off who-knows-where doing who-knows-what. 

So is Diego- Luther- it’s them she’s worried about more than Allison. Diego, with his recklessness, his anger. Luther, with his oblivious obstinance. 

They talk. Vanya plays. Five and Klaus plant and nurture- for someone so closely linked with death, Klaus seems to have quite the green thumb- and plan and arrange and build. 

Vanya plays. Five and Klaus leave and come back armed with books.

Vanya plays. Five and Klaus build IKEA furniture. 

Vanya plays. Five and Klaus name plants. 

Vanya plays. 

The Stella Plant Emporium opens its doors and welcomes in its first customers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: suicide & self-harm


	9. Glass - Violin Concerto No. 1

Five and Klaus open up the nursery.

Klaus, to Vanya’s amusement, tries his hand at carpentry, which he soon discovers to be a bad idea (although either Vanya or Ben could have already told him that.) After that Klaus lets Five handle everything that involves sanding, hammers and nails and takes care of the decoration. 

Amid Vanya’s staccatos Five and Klaus banter over store titles.

They get a sign painted. Gold lettering on black. Serif font, all caps. 

Vanya plays. There are times she thinks she’s broken through, times she thinks Five and Klaus will surely notice her, but then their gaze moves on past her, stopping just short of eye contact, and she’ll miss a note and keep going. 

“Don’t worry,” Ben assures her. “You’ll get there.”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the counter. Klaus is in the room, and he side-eyes Ben. “You all good, buddy?” he asks, brows furrowed, arms swinging coltishly, “Who you talking to?” 

“Nobody,” Ben assures him, and as soon as Klaus swings around to say something to Five shoots a wink her way that makes her grin. 

Ben’s still the Ben he was before, but there’s new edges to him. He’s still gentle, but callused now, too, tougher. Firm but yielding. But a lifetime of talking your junkie brother out of alleyways and through overdoses will do that to a person. 

It takes a while for Ben to open up to her about the years in between Klaus’s departure from the Academy and his return after Dad’s death. The hesitancy to be vulnerable with her perplexes her at first- why this sudden retreat after he was so open with her when she first broke through-? but it doesn’t take long for her to figure it out. 

Ben’s death was so long ago- even for him- that it’s not a sore subject as much as it could be. And there’s also the fact that he’s becoming reacquainted with Vanya after years- they’re practically strangers at this point, and casually telling a stranger about a dark point in your life is one thing. Telling your sibling about something you’re still not over is entirely different. 

Perhaps that’s why Ben never told Klaus about his suicide. 

There is a difference, Vanya concludes, between being open about vulnerable topics with someone and actually being vulnerable with that person. There is a difference between name-dropping scars and trusting someone to touch them without it hurting. There is a difference between Ben telling Vanya about his suicide so many years after the fact, when they barely recognize each other, and him telling Klaus, who he is used to looking in the eyes. What he tells Vanya will form her new perception of him, which is ever-changing anyways. What he tells Klaus will shift the balance between them, change everything in the way they look at each other from the old familiar status quo. 

And maybe even worse, it will make Ben the one Klaus has to be gentle with for once. It will put Klaus in the position Ben is used to being in, reverse the dynamic, and Ben doesn’t seem ready for that. 

It’s okay, though. He’ll get there. 

So Five and Klaus sell all their plants. Vanya plays. She starts on some originals, now, pieces of music that she figures out as she goes and thinks she must have just forgotten the name of until she realizes that she’s tweaking as she goes along, adapting the music into whatever form she wants it to be; realizes she’s been composing and hasn’t even realized it. 

Five and Klaus get requests for their playlist, which is both flattering to Vanya and hilarious to her and Ben. Both the numbers side-eye each other; it’s almost comical how Klaus and Five have convinced themselves the other is playing music-

Ben reappears to Klaus again and is met with frantic questions. About his own powers, about Dave... Ben answers something along the lines of “...even if I was the type of person to fall in love…” which is  _ definitely  _ something Vanya’s going to be bringing up with him later- and then Klaus asks about Vanya.

Vanya barely notices her playing’s picked up on speed and volume until Klaus presses a fist to his eyes and mumbles, “Shut the music off,” and then she stops, lowering her bow. She feels… clear. She feels powerful. 

“You don’t like it?” she asks, soft, because she knows odds are he won’t hear her, but he freezes, and after a beat pulls his hand away from his eyes and looks straight at her, paler than he is naturally. 

They make eye contact. Klaus  _ sees her. _

_ “Vanya?”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one chapter left to go bbys  
> comments and kudos are what i live & write for


	10. Paganini - Caprice No. 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So that’s where the fucker was!” he almost yells, throwing his arms up in apparent disbelief and leaning back in his chair. “Ben, you bitch! Why didn’t you say anything?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hs and work are both kicking my ass. heres a chapter doe

There are worse things on this earth Vanya could be but a ghost living in a plant store with her traumatized siblings.

Klaus immediately tackles her for a hug- and face-plants directly into the wall. (Yeah, they’re not  _ quite  _ there yet.) Afterwards, when he’s sitting at the kitchen table, Stella sitting on the counter behind him, just over his left shoulder, Ben beside Stella on the counter and Vanya on the counter opposite Klaus, Klaus seems unable to take his eyes off her. 

She grins at him, kicks her feet a little, feeling a little drunk off the feeling of being seen. He grins back, a nervous, shaky thing reminiscent of himself. He turns his head and flicks his eyes towards Ben, who gives him an encouraging half-smile. Vanya watches his Adam’s apple bob as he turns back towards her. 

“So, Vanya,” he starts, then looks like he has no idea where to go from there. Luckily, he doesn’t have to, because they’re interrupted by (surprisingly heavy) clomping steps down the stairs. “Klaus!,” Five yells from across the building. “Where the hell are you?”

He comes storming into the kitchen, all five foot three of him, and stops dead when he sees her, his face comically slack with shock. 

His recovery time’s shorter than Klaus, though, so- “ _ Vanya,”  _ he breathes, half question half statement. His eyes dart to Klaus as if to ask  _ you can see her too, right?  _ and Klaus raises his eyebrows at him and nods, two quick, jerky movements of affirmation. 

Five settles himself leaning against the counter, eyes glued to Vanya just the way Klaus’s are, and Vanya shifts, nervous, her smile fading a little. She looks to Ben for help and he shoots her an encouraging smile, tilts his chin towards her as if to say  _ go on,  _ and so she does. 

“It’s nice to see you guys again,” she starts, and almost jumps at the sound of her own voice. Klaus’s lips twitch upwards. Five just looks troubled and serious. 

“I, uh,” she clears her throat, looks down. Realizes her arms are shaking, just the tiniest bit, and immediately feels it’s the only noticeable thing about her. “I missed you guys,” she gets out. Her voice wobbles the tiniest bit and she wants to  _ die.  _

Well. It’s a bit late for that. But she wants to  _ disappear.  _

“Ben- Ben told me about- I mean, he caught me up on the plants, and everything. I think it’s great,” she adds, feeling like her skin is burning with the awkwardness of the situation. Five cracks a smile that doesn’t quite erase the worry in his eyes. From Klaus, all she gets is a quickly-fading little crescent, like he wanted to smile but got distracted halfway through. She squirms, looks to Ben for help, he nods at her to go on so she does.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, and her voice is shaking in earnest now and cracks on the last syllable. Out of the corner of her eye, Ben shifts on the counter. “I’m sorry,” she tries again, not sure what she’s apologizing for, and then Ben disappears and reappears beside her. “Breathe,” he says, quiet, a hand on her back, and she does and everything’s suddenly a whole lot clearer and easier.

She realizes Klaus is speaking, “Vanya,” he says, all soft, and it makes her want to cry. Or hug him. Maybe both. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Five says, staring out the kitchen window. His eyes flick over to her for a millisecond before he looks down at the floor. She knows him well enough to hear the implied  _ It was mine  _ and, yeah, they’re going to have a  _ long  _ talk about that later. 

“He’s right,” Klaus says, and he  _ is  _ looking her in the eyes, scanning her face like he’s looking for something. 

There’s another long beat of awkward silence where none of them know quite what to say.

“Ben was a lot of help in- in getting through to you guys,” Vanya says, just to have something to say, and Klaus’s mouth drops open in a perfect, comical O. 

“So  _ that’s  _ where the fucker was!” he almost yells, throwing his arms up in apparent disbelief and leaning back in his chair. “Ben, you  _ bitch! _ Why didn’t you  _ say _ anything?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Ben retorts. “And when I was sure, it was none of your business.”

“None of my-  _ none of my-,”  _ Klaus splutters, and then Five cuts in, “Mind including me in this conversation?” 

“Oh, right,” Klaus agrees, makes two fists and shakes in his chair for a split second and then Five jumps where he’s standing, knocking back against the cupboards, eyes wide and breaths heavy.  _ “Ben,”  _ he hisses, and Klaus barely conceals a bored snort. 

“Hey, Five,” Ben says, conversational and cheery. “‘Sup,” 

“Oh, not much,” Five retorts with characteristic sarcasm. “Just having a friendly conversation with my ghost siblings after one of them was killed by one of my  _ living  _ siblings and the other mysteriously disappeared and died over ten years ago.” 

Vanya’s stomach drops at the mention of Ben’s death- she’s still not over it, still hasn’t managed to fully process- and it must show, because Klaus’s giggle is cut short when he sees the expression on her face. “You okay?” he asks, and she assures him that she is. 

Then the first part of that sentence processes in her brain and reminds her of  _ Allison.  _

“Allison,” she says, and Five and Klaus’s faces both drop. “Is she…?”

“We don’t know,” Five says, finally looking her in the face. “She left, after we got our money.”

“Money?” Vanya frowns, and Klaus and Five tell her about Ms.Benson, the will, the money- (“But wait, Luther didn’t get  _ anything? _ ” “Yeah, we don’t know either-,”) Allison’s refusal to take her share, Allison and Diego leaving, Luther’s ever-enduring obstinance. 

Klaus interrogates Ben on his powers- something to do with ghosts that have plagued him for years being just  _ gone, now- _ Vanya catches Five looking at her with a particular blend of guilt and worry on his face she resolves to address in private later. But the one thing she has to come back to, after they’ve been talking for well over an hour, is her siblings.

“They just left?” Vanya asks, unable to believe it. “No number, no address, just… gone?”

“Yes,” answers Klaus at the same time that Five says “No.”

Klaus swings his head around to gape at Five. “What?”

There’s a look of dawning realization on Five’s face, and then his fists flash blue and he disappears. Klaus throws his hands up in exasperation, and there’s the sound of footsteps upstairs before a bright blue flash of light heralds his reappearance. He’s holding what looks like a- flip phone?

“I forgot about this,” he says, staring down at the object in his fist. “What is it?” Klaus asks, and Vanya tenses, pulls herself forwards a little bit in expectation of his answer. 

“Burner phone,” he says, looking up to meet Vanya’s eyes, then Klaus’s. “Diego gave it to me- right before he left. He said his number was in it.”

“Oh-h, I  _ remember  _ that!” Klaus exclaims, stammering a little. “Well, barely, I was pretty out of it when he gave it to you- but- yeah, I remember!”

“Call him,” Vanya blurts, and their eyes turn to face her. 

“Vanya,” Five says slowly, “He could be anywhere. It might not even reach him. He might not want to see us-,”

“Then why would he give Five the phone?” Ben asks from besides her. Vanya shoots him a grateful look and he smiles at her. “I’m with Vanya on this one.”

“Of course you are. Once partners in crime, always partners in crime,” Five mutters. “Klaus, back me up here.”

“What are you so afraid of, Five?” Klaus asks, and it’s the wrong thing to say, because- “I’m not  _ afraid,  _ Klaus,” Five spits. “But if Diego wanted us to contact him anytime, he’d have just given us a number. He wouldn’t have bought a  _ burner phone.  _ Do you know what these are for? Anonymity. Privacy. If there’s no specific reason or emergency we need to contact Diego over-”

“There is, though,” Vanya interjects, and all eyes turn to her. “Me. And Ben.”

“Unless you think reuniting with two dead siblings isn’t a compelling enough reason to-,”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Five says, sounding exasperated though also a little chastised. “I just-,” He sighs, as if he’s running out of reasons he can voice. “I think we should sit on this a little while.”

Klaus and Ben are prepared to argue, Vanya can tell, but she can also tell something’s up with Five, so- “All right,” she says, cutting off Klaus, who’d opened his mouth to speak. All three of them look to her in surprise (and Five in relief.) 

“All right,” she nods. “We’ll sit on it.”

So they sit on it. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Ben whispers to her, and- “I hope so too,” Vanya replies.

Vanya gives it two days before she goes back to talk to Five. 

She finds him in the backyard, besides a mess of gardening supplies, clutching a mug of coffee. 

“Hey,” she says, and lowers herself onto the ground beside him. It’s strange, being able to interact with things and yet- not really  _ feeling  _ any of them. It reminds Vanya of when she’d play violin so long that her legs would fall asleep and she’d lose any sort of feeling in them- except minus the uncomfortable hot prickling sensation that usually accompanied those moments. 

“Hey,” Five returns, sips his coffee, and grimaces. “No good?” Vanya asks, and he shakes his head. 

They sit in silence for a little while. The sky is pale blue, dotted through with cotton-candy clouds underlit with pink. Telephone wires crisscross and slice the sky into sections. In the distance, Vanya can hear the ghosts of city noise; honks and beeps from cars and the steady river-like rushing sound of major streets, the occasional screech of rubber against asphalt; the sounds themselves are lullabye-like reassurances of the continued presence of others and their soothing near-silence a promise of a good deal of space between them and others. 

“How are you doing?” Vanya asks, just to break the ice, and Five huffs out a laugh. 

“I’m all right,” he answers, turning to face her. “Getting comfortable being… like this.” A sweeping gesture downward at his prepubescent form. “I can’t say the lack of limb pain isn’t a plus. It’s getting easier with Klaus. His meetings are helping-,”

“Five, why don’t you want to call Diego?” she asks, cutting him off, and he stops in his tracks, looking unsurprised, if disappointed, that she’s brought it up. 

“I already told you. If he wanted us to get in contact-,”

“Yeah, but you don’t really care what we  _ want _ most of the time,” Vanya interrupts, and then thinking that might’ve come across too harsh, adds, “I- I mean, you always do what you think is  _ best  _ for us, even if that’s not what we-,”

“I know what you mean,” Five sighs, looking resigned. He runs his finger along the edge of his mug. 

“So, why?” Vanya asks.

There’s a long beat of silence before Five speaks. 

Then- “Vanya, at the Theatre-,”

She flinches and he stops. “I’m fine,” she reassures him, not entirely convinced of it herself. “Go on.”

“At the Theatre- when Allison- when she killed you-”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Vanya blurts, needing to make that clear. 

Five sighs. “I know, Vanya. It was mine.”

“What?”

“I came back to 2019 to stop the apocalypse. And I had opportunity after opportunity to do that. If I had just- talked to you. For five minutes. But I was so wrapped up in my own ideas that I didn’t bother.”

“Five-,”

“And when I was a kid, and I travelled to 2019 and saw us dead- you  _ weren’t there,  _ Vanya. And I didn’t even fucking notice. And because I was such a fucking idiot, one of my sisters lost her voice forever and had to shoot the other one in the back of the head, and Pogo’s dead, and the academy’s destroyed-,”

“Five-,”

“-and my brother’s girlfriend died. And me?” Five scoffs. “Well. One is somewhere relearning everything he’s ever known. Two is somewhere probably performing vigilante justice with no regard for his personal safety. Three is traumatized for life and will probably never speak again. Four is also traumatized for life. Six and Seven are dead. Meanwhile, Five is living in a nice little house full of plants in New York City.” He shakes his head, not meeting her eyes as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“Five,” Vanya says, and then stops, because she has no idea what to say. Her heart hurts for him, but she doesn’t know how to help. 

“Five,” she starts again, and then carefully says, “I think I know a little of how you feel.”

“How could you,” Five mutters, and Vanya has to smile. 

“Well,” she starts, “I did almost kill my sister.”

Five opens his mouth, but she keeps going. 

“I destroyed the academy. I almost killed all of  _ you _ .”

“Vanya-,”

“We all have stuff we blame ourselves for, Five. I’m sure Diego does too.”

Five considers this. Sets down his mug on the stone patio. The sky is lighter, the city sounds sharper and louder. He squints up into the sky. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “He does.”

“What do you mean?” Vanya asks, and he tells her about Eudora. 

***

The next morning after breakfast, Five pulls out the burner phone and sets it on the table. 

“All right,” he says, and Klaus and Ben shoot Vanya wondering glances.

Five flips open the phone and dials the number, holds the phone up to his ear. 

It rings once- twice- three times- four times- and then someone picks up. 

“Diego?” Five says into the speaker, and Vanya leans forward, tense. She can’t quite make out Diego’s response, but it’s definitely  _ him,  _ and she feels dizzy. Even Klaus is leaning nervously forward on his elbows at this point and Ben’s calm seems more practiced than natural. 

Five listens, nods, asks where Diego is, and then Diego asks something and Five’s eyes flick to Vanya and Ben. 

“Yeah, I’m with- Klaus,” he says. 

There’s a few more seconds of conversation from Diego, and then Five says goodbye and hangs up the phone. 

He carefully flips it closed and sets it back on the table. He seems lost in thought, but Vanya can’t wait for him to dole out information on his own accord so she opens her mouth to ask- but Klaus beats her to it. 

“Well?” he asks, a note of urgency in his lilting voice, and Five frowns. 

“It turns out,” he says slowly, “Diego and Allison have been five blocks away from us all this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am.... so burnt out and most of the readers of this fic have left long ago but im still determined to write the other *checks notes* four fics in this series. i outlined this whole shitshow two years ago now and i am determined to see it through goddamnit.
> 
> anyways, next up we get to see what allison's been doing all this time :D

**Author's Note:**

> i promise the next parts will be longer lol.   
> come find me on tumblr! @ghibli-ghost-cats


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